Two hot chocolates and a warm blanket
by Little Polveir
Summary: This is a scene which I've really wanted to write, following on from Series 3, Episode 3. Shelagh and Timothy's relationship develops whilst Patrick is out on call one night. I don't own these characters, I'm just borrowing them! One shot


Shelagh lay curled up at one end of the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her slight frame and a mug of hot chocolate in her hand. She was alone in the house, which was dark, except for the warm orange glow of the table lamp to her side. Timothy was still at Cubs and Patrick was out on call. They had barely seen each other that day; he had only been home for long enough to say hello, grab a handful of biscuits, tell Timothy to get in the car and leave again. He had not even kissed her today.

Shelagh sighed at the thought of Patrick kissing her. "He'll be home soon" she thought. She disliked being in the house alone in the evenings. After years of silence and isolation in the evenings at Nonnatus she thought she would be immune to the loneliness and quiet, but no, she longed to hear her boys talking and laughing, teasing each other and her. She longed for company, warmth and affection. Now especially.

A click of a key in the door lock pierced the silence, startling her. She moved from the sofa into the hallway.

"Hello Pat…Peter." she said "And Timothy."

"Hello Mum!" Timothy chirped merrily. He had a beaming smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes which were so like his father's. Shelagh felt a lurch in the pit of her stomach.

"Peter, is everything alright?" Shelagh enquired. As fond as she was of Peter Noakes, his role as a police officer would made her feel a sense of dread when he arrived unannounced, particularly while Patrick was not in the house.

"Yes, don't worry, everything is fine." Peter replied, suddenly aware of the expression on Shelagh's face. "Patrick phoned the hall to say that he would not be able to pick Timothy up, so I thought I would ride him home to save you the trouble."

"Yeh, it was great!" Timothy squeaked "Peter steered and pedalled and I sat on the back of the saddle, holding on real…" He stopped when he saw the look of concern on his step-mothers face. Peter looked equally guilty. "I'll go and have my bath" the little boy said before scampering up the stairs.

"Sorry Shelagh, I was trying to help, I didn't go too fast…and…" Peter began.

"It's alright Peter." Shelagh replied "Thank you for bringing him home." She paused. "Did Patrick give any indication how long he would be when he telephoned?"

"Not really, he only said it was going to be a long night." Peter watched Shelagh's face fall. "Right, I better be off, I need to help Camilla get Freddie ready for bed, goodnight Shelagh."

"Goodnight Peter."

She stood watching Peter pedal safely on his way, thinking about how wonderful it must be to have a baby to put to bed. After a moment of breathing in the fresh night air, she closed the front door behind her and went upstairs and stood on the landing outside of the bathroom door. She stood for a moment, just listening, and smiled as she heard Timothy splashing in the water and having imaginary conversations with his rubber ducks. She knocked gently on the door.

"Timothy" she called "When you have finished your bath and you have your pyjamas on, will you come downstairs please?"

The splashing and playing stopped.

"Am I in trouble?" Timothy called back with a wary tone in his voice.

"No, of course not…" her voice faltered "Sweetheart. I just want to talk to you. Is that alright?"

Timothy made a childish noise which Shelagh interpreted as agreement.

"And would you like some hot chocolate?"

"Yes please" came his reply.

Ten minutes later Timothy came fumbling down the stairs and stood in the doorway of the sitting room in his pyjamas and slippers, his dressing gown over the top. There he saw his stepmother curled up on the sofa, a mug of hot chocolate in her hand, and another waiting for him on the coffee table. She seemed to have not noticed that he was there, appearing distant and distracted. He was astute and sensitive for a boy so young, and the sight of Shelagh looking like this perturbed him. He sidled into the room, heading towards the mug of hot chocolate. Picking it up and taking a mouthful he looked at Shelagh, expecting a response. When nothing happened he said.

"You always seem to make hot chocolate taste better than Dad, how do you do it?"

It was then she noticed that he was standing there. She had no idea how to answer this question, so she smiled and stroked Timothy's sleeve.

"Mum what's wrong?" Timothy asked, becoming less and less secure in the situation.

"Will you come and sit on my lap Timmy?" Shelagh said, hitching herself up so that she was now upright. "That's if you're not too big for a cuddle."

Timothy opened his mouth to protest that at ten years old he was far too big to be cuddled on someone's knee, but something in Shelagh's expression prevented him from saying anything. She looked as though she would cry if he said no.

"Ok" he said, and sat down on her lap, his lower back against the arm of the sofa, his feet resting on the middle seat and his head on her shoulder. He sipped his hot chocolate and felt one of Shelagh's arms wrap around his middle, the other slide under his knees. He felt her soft hair brush against his face as she held him closer. They sat together for what seemed to Timothy like absolute ages. Of course, Shelagh hugged him every day, before he went to school, when he got home, last thing at night, but this was different. There was something not quite right.

"Mum, what is making you feel sad?"

Shelagh did not answer him immediately. She had become lost in the closeness of their embrace, the warmth of his body, the smell of his clean clothes, his steady breathing. Her maternal instincts had gone into overdrive. Although Timothy was far from being a baby, he was still just about small enough to fit on her knee and in her arms. "This could be closest I ever get" she thought.

"How could I be sad when I have you?" Shelagh replied, kissing Timothy's cheek.

Timothy looked up at Shelagh, unconvinced. It was then that he noticed her eyes were sparkling with tears. He took a deep breath, wondering whether he was allowed to ask personal questions.

"Did the Doctor at the special clinic tell you some bad news?" Timothy enquired, looking up at Shelagh with a mix of fear and childish innocence. "Dad told me that you were having some tests." Timothy paused. "But he didn't tell me what they were."

Shelagh's stomach lurched at the question. She held Timothy even tighter into her and wept into his soft towelling dressing gown. Timothy put his arms round Shelagh and, apparently unconsciously, placed one of his hands exactly where she had felt her stomach had lurched moments earlier. Taking a deep breath to compose herself Shelagh plucked up the courage to tell the little boy what she was feeling.

"Do you remember your father saying that you might be a big brother one day?" Timothy nodded, hanging on Shelagh's every word, her every breath. "Well, the Doctor said that because I was ill before, I…" She could not stop herself sobbing. Timothy snuggled into her even more tightly. "…I can't give you a little brother or sister." She could not hold her emotions in check any longer and she burst into a flood of tears. Timothy felt her body shaking against his. Her tears fell onto his pyjamas.

"I'm sorry Mum" the little boy said.

"It's alright Timmy"

The two sat in each other's arms for a moment. Timothy wondered what he should say. His father was not in the house to look after Shelagh, he had to do the grown up thing.

"Mum, I know you are very sad, but I'm not sure how to make everything better" he paused, looking up at Shelagh for reassurance. She looked back at him with a look of pure love, but could not muster anything to say. Timothy continued. "But I want you to know, that I love you very, very much, and I'm so glad that you are my Mum and I hope I can be your son, even if it's not quite…" he paused "…the same."

The profound kindness in the little boy's words sent a wave of warmth to the very depths of Shelagh's heart. "I love you too, Timmy, and I cannot think of another boy who I would want to be my son. I am lucky to have you and your father. I must be grateful and thank God for you both."

If it were possible, Shelagh held Timothy even tighter.

"Will you stay here with me until your father gets home?"

"But will he mind, it's already past my bedtime?"

"If he does, I'll explain everything, will you pass that blanket?"

Timothy picked the blanket up off the floor and handed it to Shelagh. She unfolded it and wrapped it round the pair of them, tucking the ends underneath their bodies, then replacing her arms around her son. She kissed his forehead and sighed. "You are mine, Timmy" she whispered "And I love you." When she got no response, she looked down at Timothy. He had not heard her; he had fallen asleep in her arms.

Three hours later, Patrick parked the MG outside the house and quietly turned his key in the front door, knowing that Timothy and Shelagh would be in bed by now. As he walked past the sitting room door he noticed that the table lamp was still on.

"Why are you still awa…" he began, but stopped when he saw his wife and son, fast asleep in each other's arms, in a state of perfect bliss. Patrick smiled at the scene in front of him, and, not being heartless enough to move them, he headed upstairs to the airing cupboard to fetch another blanket to place over his wife and son. He laid it over them gently so that he did not disturb them.

"Goodnight, my beautiful family."

He switched the table lamp off and crept up the stairs to his own bed.


End file.
